


Watch Over Them

by takethembystorm



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethembystorm/pseuds/takethembystorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien’s always had at least one person looking out for him, even if he didn’t know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch Over Them

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration taken from [here](http://ladyofacat.tumblr.com/post/140660322023/but-what-if-nathalie-and-the-driver-know-that). Many thanks to the anon and to Cat!mom.

They call him the Gorilla.

It’s something Chloe came up with on a playdate with the young master in her typical careless maliciousness, but even he has to admit that it’s a decent nickname, as they go.

He can’t agree quite so readily with the young master’s name for his alter ego.  Chat Noir.  It has no class, no imagination, no humor or anything else to commend it.  It’s a description, as corporate and soulless as Mickey Mouse.

It’s a bit of a silly thing to be concerned about, he knows, but it helps distract him from the fact that the young master is regularly hurling himself into battle against superpowered freaks that make the average superhero rogues gallery look like a bunch of prancing children’s entertainers in bad makeup.

This is one of the nights that the distraction isn’t enough.  As soon as the young master is to the outside world safely locked away in his home- _cum_ -prison, he heads off to the nearest bar.  The bartender is an older man, his scalp bald and shining over thick, heavy eyebrows, and by now he knows his order by heart.  As soon as the Gorilla walks through the door, he gets a nod and a bottle of the nearest eighty-proof.

He’s never drunk this heavily ever since he graduated university, but it still takes him the better part of a bottle and a half for the world to go soft and fuzzy.  He’s most of the way there when someone trips into his back.

He turns.  An old Chinese man with a neat mustache and a similarly neat, pointed beard steadies himself on a bamboo cane.  He flashes him a wide, very white smile as he stands up, his back hunched and scoliotic.

“So sorry,” the old man says slowly and deliberately, his accented French so thick as to be nearly unintelligible.  “My leg, you see?”

The Gorilla grunts and turns back to his drink.  The old man shuffles up beside him and levers himself up onto a stool.

“What’ll you have,” the bartender says perfunctorily.

“A hard lemonade, if you please,” the old man says.  The bartender nods, grabs a bottle from the fridge and slides it over, and leaves them to tend to another pair of customers, a raucous pair of college-age schoolgirls.

The old man sips from his bottle, then says, very quietly, all traces of his accent gone, “Hello, Mr. Gorilla.”

The Gorilla freezes with his own bottle halfway to his mouth.  “How do you know that?” he rumbles quietly.  He doesn’t turn to look at the old man, but he can see a small smile in his peripheral vision.  The old man sits a little straighter.

“I know many things,” the old man says, chuckling.  “One of those things being that you know exactly who this new superhero Chat Noir is.”

 _Shit._   The Gorilla makes to move, but the old man is fast, a lot faster than he is, and his hand is wrapped around the Gorilla’s wrist before he has time to blink.  The old man squeezes hard enough to make the bones of his wrist grind together painfully.

“I am not here to threaten or to blackmail,” the old man says levelly.  “Do not act rashly.  I would rather that I did not have to hurt you.  Well, permanently, at least.”

He decides that this is probably a very good idea.  He nods once, and the old man releases his grip, taking a swig from his bottle.

“As I was going to say, _I_ also know who the cat is.  And I know that you know.  And I know that you care for him, more than perhaps is warranted from a driver and a bodyguard.”

The Gorilla nods, the movement almost imperceptible.  He follows it up with another slug of liquor that burns a numbing path down his throat.

“I am here, in fact, to offer you a job.”

“Have one,” the Gorilla rumbles.

“Another one, then.”

The Gorilla sighs.  “Does it pay?”

There’s a quiet little chuckle from the old man in reply.  “Both of us know that you don’t care about that.  Not if his safety is involved.”

Maybe he’s right.  The Gorilla does his best not to indicate it either way.

“I might care if his dad fires me,” the Gorilla rumbles.  “He doesn’t appreciate the staff getting attached, supposedly it’s ‘unprofessional’.  Last maid got sacked that way.  Nathalie nearly got sacked, too, the other day.”

“And yet you still care for him,” the old man says.

The Gorilla takes a long pull from the bottle.

“All right,” he says.  “Say I’m interested.  What’s the job?”

“Keep an eye on him,” the old man murmurs.  He swigs from his bottle.  “Keep him safe and happy, to the best of your ability.  Help him to keep his secret.  He has responsibilities, more now than ever, and he cannot be allowed to falter in them.”

“Can’t exactly jump around rooftops,” the Gorilla rumbles.

“Then keep an eye on Adrien,” the old man says.  “Someone else will watch over the cat.”

“The girl in that stupid red polka-dot bodysuit.”

“Yes.  If you find the time, I would appreciate it if you would keep an eye on her as well when you can, once you figure out who she is.  I suspect that it will not take long.”

A brief smile creases the old man’s face.  ”They are both young and careless, and they feel invincible.  I would look for a girl with her features, say, talking into empty air, or into a bag, or something like that.”

The Gorilla turns to the man, scowling.  “Who are they to you, anyways?”

The old man’s smile widens, turning his forehead into a mass of wrinkles, and he takes another pull from his bottle.  “They are my chosen.”

The Gorilla’s eyes widen.  “You”—

The old man’s smile goes brittle and hard, and the Gorilla leans away from it.   “I gave them their powers, yes.  Because it proved necessary.  Because time is short, and I am an old man, and there are things that sometimes must be done, regardless of the price.  You _will_ not interfere.  Do you understand?”

The Gorilla nods.

“Good.”  The old man drains his bottle, and places it lightly on the counter.

“You’ve put him in danger,” the Gorilla rumbles.

“Would he be in any less danger if he did not have his powers?” the old man asks rhetorically.  “At least this way, he has a chance to fight back.”

“And someone else couldn’t?”

“No one else.  The man behind these attacks will not stop them because you ask nicely.  And they were chosen to be what they are by powers greater than me.”

The Gorilla snorts.  “You gonna tell me that those kids are on a mission from God?”

“Gods, actually,” the old man says with a calm smile.  “Little ones.”  He holds up his free hand, thumb and first two fingers held apart by about six centimeters.  “About this big.”

Silence, as the Gorilla absorbs this.

“Do you have a name?” the Gorilla asks.  “Seems impolite to just call you ‘mysterious old geezer’.”

“You may call me Fu,” Fu says, “or Master Fu, if you’re feeling formal.”

The Gorilla chuckles.  “Si-fu,” he mutters.  “Hilarious.”

“Good joke, eh?” Fu says, grinning broadly.

“Stupid, more like.  Almost as bad as Adrien’s jokes.”  The Gorilla sets aside his bottle and purses his lips, thinking.  “How can I get in contact with you?”

“You will receive instructions later,” Fu says.  “For now, finish your drink.  Rest.  He will make sure that you will need it in the days to come, I suspect.”

“Isn’t the first long night I’ve had,” the Gorilla mutters.  “I’ll be fine.  What will you be doing?”

“I will be around,” Fu says.  “Mostly trying to find the man causing all of this chaos, but I will check in when I can.  Thank you, Mr. Gorilla.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Fu nods and hops off of the stool.  As his feet touch the ground, his back arches into a slump and his legs bow and become wobbly.  His cane trembles under his weight.

“Bartender?” he croaks, his accent returned.

The bartender appears as if by magic.  Fu slides over a hundred-euro note.

“For my bill,” he pronounces.  “Let this kind young man drink off the rest of it.”

“All right,” the bartender says, pocketing the money.  He turns away as a man calls for a pint.

“You are crazy, Master Fu,” the Gorilla says as Fu turns to leave.

“No crazier than a pair of teenagers who fight evil in the streets of Paris, eh?” Fu says, his accent vanished again.  His expression sobers a little.  “Or a father who seeks to protect his child by locking him away in an ivory tower.”

Fu hobbles off with the suggestion of a wink directed in the Gorilla’s direction.

The Gorilla finishes his bottle, but refuses the third that the bartender proffers him and heads home.

When he gets back home, he finds a note on his bed.  On one side is written a phone number.  He turns it over.  “One more thing,” the note reads in a spidery scrawl.  “If you happen to see an all-black floating cat thing or a red floating bug thing with a black spot on its head, please do not panic.  That is normal.”


End file.
